I’ll never forget my first time. I don’t think anyone does. I’m not the first person to have cried during or afterward, right? Since the first time, I’ve now had experience with many, some people I’ve known well, but most have been strangers. I find that knowing the person really well, makes it a bit more difficult. Strangers are much easier, because there are no emotional attachments or memories. I’ve now been paid multiple times for my services, which is a great feeling and the pay is fantastic. Here’s the story of my first time.

A long time client of mine had passed away. The next evening I received a call from her son, asking me to style his mother’s hair for her funeral. I said I would do it, without any hesitation. Did I just say yes? I’m going to do a dead person’s hair? I remained calm on the phone, but I could feel my heart racing with anxiousness. I knew his mother must have requested it. I was honored. It would be the very last thing I could ever do for Louise. I had to do this.

The funeral home contacted me the next morning to set up a time to come in and take care of Louise. We set up an appointment for the following afternoon. My mind began to race with questions. What do I wear? How does any of this work? I had no idea what I would need to do, what equipment I needed, how Louise would look or where I would be styling Louise within the funeral home. I barely slept that night, because my mind wouldn’t shut off. What was I so worried about? There are people who do this for a living every day. I was certain those people slept at night.

The next day, I started sorting through the clothes in my closet. I felt I should wear something more than jeans and a t-shirt. I settled on black slacks and a flowery blouse. I packed up every possible tool I would need in a big canvas bag. Even with deodorant, I was sweating like a priest in confession, before ever leaving the house. I hopped in the car and blasted the music, hoping it would take my mind away from the heavy feeling in my chest. I focused on the music and my breathing.

Before I knew it, I was in the parking lot. I parked the car and took the keys out of the ignition. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I closed my eyes. Breathe in through the nose, breathe out though the mouth. I did this several times, until I felt slightly buzzed. I knew I needed to move quickly and get out of the car before the oxygen buzz wore off.  Otherwise, I would feel stuck again and need to repeat the breathing exercises. That may sound silly, but it works for me.

Walking through the parking lot, I had a sudden surge of confidence. I entered the building and approached the receptionist in the office, pretending this wasn’t my first rodeo. “Hi, my name is Wendy. I’m here for styling services.” The receptionist told me to take a seat and someone would be with me shortly. I sat down and within moments a tall, lanky, suited man approached me. He had a broad smile and large teeth. He addressed me by name and asked me to follow him.

I followed him to the back of the funeral home. We walked through a door, which led to a staircase. We headed downstairs. The basement? Isn’t this where all horror movies end? At the bottom of the stairs, there was a small seating area and a door. The door wasn’t a pretty wooden door like the others in the funeral home. This one was gray and steel. It made a loud clanking sound when it opened and again when it closed.

On the other side of the door was Louise. She lay lifeless on a table, covered up to her neck with a white sheet. Her skin was an odd shade of pale bluish-gray. Her white hair was standing on end, away from her face. It was a little shocking at first. I could feel a lump forming in the back of my throat. My insides were feeling shaky. After setting my bag down, the suited man spoke, “Her makeup isn’t done yet.” He chuckled. I jumped at the sound of his voice, for I had nearly forgotten he was still there. By the way, could he have stated anything more obvious?

I plugged in my curling iron and blow dryer and started wetting down Louise’s hair with my spray bottle, because it would need to be dried in a different direction. I turned on the blow dryer, which was a nice break from the awkward silence and smiling stares of the suited man. As I finished drying her hair, a phone rang. The suited man excused himself to take the call. I was relieved he left.

Louise was always a straight shooter, said what she thought and did not use sarcasm sparingly. As I sorted through my memories of her, I began curling her hair. I didn’t realize I was crying, until a tear ran down my cheek and landed in Louise’s hair. I quickly found a tissue in my bag and wiped my face. I smiled, wondering what Louise would’ve said to me for crying into her hair.

The suited man returned, smiling, “I apologize for taking so long. Are you okay?” I nodded. “Some people freak out and can’t finish the job.” He chuckled again. “Oh….you don’t have to do that.” I was laying the comb on the scalp, under the curling iron, so as not to burn her. “The iron can’t burn dead skin.” Again, with the chuckle.

I didn’t know that, but it didn’t matter to me.  “I guess it’s just habit. I’d rather treat her the same, as if she were alive.” There was nothing funny about my statement, but the suited man laughed loudly anyway. I finished up Louise’s hair and began putting my tools away.

“Would you like to pick up the check? Or we can send it to you?” The suited man asked, as I tossed the last of my belongings into the bag.

“I don’t want to charge them anything. It’s a gift for Louise.” The man nodded and I looked at Louise one more time before leaving the room. I jogged up the stairs and through the door. I didn’t slow my pace, as I thanked the suited man, nodded to the receptionist and quickly walked out of the funeral home.

I breathed in the outside air and hurried to the car. Once I was in the car, I cried. I cried hard. I wasn’t exactly sure why I was crying so hard, but it felt good. It was like the lid came off of a pressure cooker. There was an overpowering sense of relief. A weight was lifted. I blew my nose and quietly laughed over the suited man’s words. Was he nervously waiting for me to freak out?

As I pulled out of the parking lot and put on my sunglasses, I told myself, “That wasn’t so bad… for my first time.”